Hey, We're Allowed to Have Fun
by kelhome
Summary: Dean takes Sam to a carnival. Too much moonshine, dodging clowns and games of chance ensue.


This time, the job had almost done them in. Well, almost done Sam in. The ghost of Malcolm Ridgely had been one pissed off dude. He'd tossed Sam out a window, for pitysake. Luckily for Sam, he'd had the presence of mind to grab a tree branch, so he'd avoided plunging five stories to his skull-crushing death. Of course, Dean hadn't known there was a 100 foot tree outside, and he'd dispatched Malcolm thinking that Sam was…well, that he wasn't going to be sitting next to him in the Impala, as he was now.

Dean glanced over. Sam was picking at the palm of his hand. "What are you doing?"

Sam didn't glance up. "Splinters."

Dean smirked. "Well, we have tweezers and a needle, don't we? Leave 'em be. I'll take care of it when we stop."

Sam slid him a glance. "Dean, I'm not five. I can take out my own splinters."

Dean just looked out at the road. He wouldn't mind a five year-old Sammy about now. That kid had been cheerful and eager to please. Grown-up Sam was so touchy about taking care of himself, showing he was an equal partner, and not the needy drag on the partnership. It was starting to irritate Dean. _Sure, take care of yourself, great. But, don't give me grief every time I try to help you with something either, jackass._

They were coming into Elko, Nevada, heading toward Oregon. Bobby had gotten word about some town having freaked out citizens. He was worried it was the Croatoan thing again. So, they were on their way. But, Dean was tired. And hungry. And wanting just a little breathing room before they pitched head-first into another battle. "Hey, you hungry?"

Sam shrugged. "Not really. Just tired."

Dean sighed. _Dumb question._ When had Sam ever answered that question with, "Yeah! I'm starving. Find me a steak and baked potato, pronto!" Dean smiled. That'd be pretty funny, actually. But, no, Sam was in full-on hunting mode. No time for fun, or food or women. Just work, work, work. _Save the world, blah, blah, blah. _

Granted, there had not been a whole lot of opportunity for fun, lately. Finding out Lucifer wanted you to be his vessel didn't exactly bring out a guy's inner lampshade-wearer. And, if it wasn't the apocalypse and Lucifer and Zachariah, it was dodging other hunters who wanted a piece of Sam. It was also taking care of the more mundane evil spirits and supernatural creatures that were apparently unaware that the apocalypse had started and the Winchesters were a little busy, thanks.

Dean was about to make his case for stopping at a diner, when he saw, over the tops of the small cluster of buildings, a ferris wheel all lit up and slowing turning. He glanced at Sam, who hadn't looked up from his splinter excavation. Dean hid a smile. _Oh, yeah._

When he turned off the car, Sam finally looked up. They were parked in a huge grass field, one car among about a hundred others. Sam got a look on his face that Dean hadn't seen in ten years, at least. Well, except for that brief stint with the Barnacle Brothers Circus, or whatever the hell it had been called, with the Rockshasa and the loss of Dad still so fresh. He turned to Dean. "Uh, Dean?"

Dean smiled, pocketed the keys. "Yep. It's a carnival, Sammy. And we're going."

Sam laughed nervously. "Yeah, no. You go ahead."

Dean turned toward him, got comfortable. They were doing this, and he was prepared to use every available means to make sure it happened. "We are both going in. We're going to ride the rides, walk the midway and have some damn fun for a change."

Sam glanced at the lights, the rides and the milling people. "Yeah, ah, you know what they have at carnivals, Dean?"

Dean tried not to grin. "Funnel cake? Three-legged races? Farm animals? What?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Listen, I manned up for that Bunker Brothers Circus thing, didn't I?"

_Bunker Brothers. That was the name. _"Yeah, Sam, you did. And you're going to do it again, tonight."

Sam wiped his palms on his thighs. "Um, Dean…"

Dean tisked, opened his door. "Nope. I wanna go. And, since I went to hell and you didn't, you have to do what I say."

Sam's jaw dropped open. "What? I…Jesus. That is _low_, Dean."

Dean considered. "Hell's lower. Come on." He got out of the car, slammed his door and started walking toward the ticket booth.

Sam waited a minute or so, then reluctantly climbed out to follow. He jogged to catch up. "Dean, it's just not natural. Putting ghoulish make-up all over your face, wearing colored fright wigs and overly large shoes. It's just…and then, they _smile_, like it's perfectly natural to have a kabuki death mask where your face should be…"

Dean turned just before the ticket window, pulled Sam aside. "Sam, you face unimaginable evil on a daily basis. You are not going to let a couple of clowns keep you from a deep fried Twinkie, are you?"

Sam's head went up. His hang-dog expression lifted. "They have deep fried Twinkies?"

"Oh, yeah. Corn Dogs, funnel cakes, snow cones, soft serve, you name it." He leaned in toward Sam. "If you're really brave, and act like a big boy, I'll spring for the cotton candy."

"Cotton Candy? They have real, like, spun in the machine Cotton Candy?"

And Dean knew they were in. Sam may have had a phobia about clowns, but his lust for Cotton Candy would always trump. Sam stood up straighter, set his shoulders. "Okay. But, if I see any clowns, I can't promise not to---"

"Run like a girl?"

"---Walk _briskly_ toward…another part of the carnival. "

Dean smiled. It felt good. "Deal."

Sam smiled back. "Okay."

The first thing they came to when they went inside the fence was the homemade cider table. It was a brisk night, and the cider was warm. There were a couple of teenagers giggling near the vat at the end of the table. Dean saw one of them holding an empty bottle of vodka. _All righty, then._ He ushered Sam over to that one. "How about some cider to start?"

Sam was distracted, trying to decide how to go about this whole thing. _Typical Sam. Had to have a strategy to go to a carnival. _Dean motioned for two ciders. Took out his flask, and emptied it into Sam's cup. _That ought to help the kid loosen up._ The teenagers saw Dean spiking Sam's already spiked punch, and gave Dean an enthusiastic, if wobbly, thumbs up. Dean returned the gesture with a smile.

Sam took the cup of cider, telling Dean where he wanted to start. Dean gestured to the cup, not really listening. "Bottom's up. Let's do this thing." And he swallowed down the entire cup in one go. Sam nodded, still looking at the midway, finished his in one go, too. He tossed his cup in the trash, turned to tell Dean something, and gasped. He sucked in a deep breath, trying not to cough against the three or four shots of liquor he'd just downed in one go. When his eyes had stopped watering, Dean just lifted a brow. "Ready?"

Sam coughed discreetly, caught his breath. "Yeah, I'm ready. Food, first."

They didn't have deep fried Twinkies, but they did have deep fried Snickers bars, so Sam didn't bitch. In fact, between the liquor (homemade moonshine, $10.00 a pint? Like stealing…) and the sugar, Sam was more animated than Dean had seen in since…well, in _years_. "Dean, the line is down for the zipper, let's go." He actually attached his hand to Dean's sleeve and pulled. Dean let himself be dragged, trying not to laugh at Sam's flushed cheeks and rapid speech. He probably had about another hour before the kid passed out, but, what the hell?

They rode the Zipper and the Gravitron, had a friendly competition with some local jocks at the basketball throw, and when Sam won (eight shots out of ten, and he didn't even _practice,) _he gave the large blue bunny prize to a kid in a stroller who looked at him like he was her hero. Her mom gave her a look and she'd beamed up at Sam. "Thank you, nice man!" Sam smiled back, a full-on, deep-dimples smile that Dean hadn't seen in _forever. _ And, it occurred to Dean that, if he was admiring Sam's shooting, and noticing Sam's _smile_, for Chrissake, he'd probably better back off the moonshine. Because, they were still the Winchesters and you never knew who was going to come calling. He started sipping water, but continued to feed Sam moonshine. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Sam was getting full-on drunk, and he knew it. He gave Dean a long look at one point, kind of a _'you're going to keep an eye out?' _And Dean had nodded,_ 'Yeah, Sammy, I got it.' _

They walked along the games of chance. Sam wanted to do the ring toss on the Coke bottles, Dean explained how the whole thing was rigged. "Sam, the rings are smaller than the bottle tops."

"Dean, the guy running the game does it practically with his eyes closed. I can do it."

"You can lose your money, that's what you can do."

"Come on, give me a dollar." Sam held out his hand, weaving just slightly.

Dean couldn't help it, he laughed. "Even if it _isn't _rigged, you are plowed, man. There's no way ---"

"Zip it up, sister, and give me a dollar."

Dean raised a brow. "Did you say, 'zip it up, sister?'"

Sam looked confused. "No. I said 'give me a dollar.'" He wiggled his fingers. "Come on. I want that pink raccoon for the back window of the Impala."

Dean sighed, peeled off two more ones. "No pink fuzzy blob is going anywhere near my car. Here…" He glanced to his right and saw Castiel standing behind the Spin-Art booth. _Damn it._

Sam had already taken the money. He walked over to the guy behind the counter. "Two dollars, please."

The guy smiled. "You want me to give you two dollars?"

Sam smiled. "If you want, sure. But, I want two dollars worth of rings. I'm gonna win that raccoon."

The guy nodded. "I'm sure you are. Give it a go, pal."

Dean had sighed and walked over to Castiel. Sam hadn't tossed a ring yet, he was still _strategizing. _Castiel gave an infinitesimal nod of his head toward Sam. "Does he realize he cannot accomplish what he is attempting? The man has switched the rings. He ---"

Dean held up his hand. "It's just for fun, Cas. Don't worry about it. You here to try and win a prize?"

Castiel looked irritated. "No, Dean, I need you and your brother to ---"

And Dean held up his hand again. "Cas, stop. We are off duty tonight."

Castiel looked like he didn't understand the concept. "I don't understand the concept. 'Off duty?'"

Dean looked back over at Sam. He was in a ridiculous bent-knee stance, totally focused on tossing his little ring onto the Coke bottle. He hadn't even actually tossed it yet, he was practicing his motion. Each time, he listed to the left. "Lean a little to the right, Sammy."

Sam nodded, "Okay." And he practiced his swing leaning way over to the right.

Dean smiled, shook his head, looked back to Castiel. "We need to stop, just for one night." He indicated Sam, behind him. "Look at him. There's big, bad Sam Winchester, target of demons and angels. He's having fun, Cas. _I'm _having fun. Just, can't we have fun, for one night?"

Castiel raised a brow. "Fun?" He looked at Sam over Dean's shoulder.

Sam finally launched one of the rings. It clattered against the bottles and Sam threw his hands up in the air. "Oh, man! So close." And he picked up another one.

Castiel looked back at Dean. "This is fun for him? Tossing rings at bottles? When demons are circling and ---"

Dean interrupted again. "Yes! It's fun, Cas. And we haven't had…Just, this once. Would you let us be?"

Castiel looked into Dean's face, seemed to finally understand.

Behind them, Sam let out another "Oh, almost!"

Castiel's mouth almost turned up at the corner. "I think I understand. You go and have fun. I will watch over you both. Just for tonight."

Dean felt his heart lighten. "Really? You'll keep an eye out for, you know, everything?"

Castiel nodded once. "I will. We can um, 'pick this up' in the morning."

Dean heard Sam call out, "Dean, hey, where'd you go?"

He turned to see Sam almost spinning in place, trying to spot Dean. He felt Cas disappear in that disconcerting way he had. "Right here, Sam." He walked back over.

Sam smiled. "I think I figured it out. Ready?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah, Sam, I'm ready."

Sam didn't win a raccoon, thank God.

As they continued down the midway, Dean was distracted by some teenagers who were jostling each other and laughing. _Was I ever like that? Laughing and hanging with my friends on a Saturday night? _There were maybe eight people, guys and girls, in their group. They stopped at the Strong Man booth. It was set up as an old-fashioned, swing the huge Flintstone-sized mallet on the plate and send the light up the pole thing. One of the teens strode up, gave the man a dollar. He was probably a football player, he had the letter jacket and the girth of a lineman. He pointed to one of the girls. "This one's for you, Jenny."

The girl laughed. "Okay, Tuck. You go to it." Dean stopped. He wondered if the kid could do it. Sam turned, to see why Dean had stopped walking. They both just watched as the kid tried, and failed, two more dollars worth. The whole group was egging him on now. He was sweating, and looked like he wasn't having as much fun anymore. Sam looked at Dean, and Dean nodded. "If you want…"

Sam walked over. "I'd like to give it a try. Do you mind?"

The big guy smiled. "Well, buddy, you can try, but I've got thirty pounds on you, and I can't get it done."

Sam looked around at the group. Then, at the guy running the thing. He held up a dollar. "How about, if I get it to the top, all the girls get a prize?"

A whoop went up from the whole crowd. The guy at the booth just smiled. "Sure. All the ladies get a prize if you get it to the top. Knock yourself out."

Dean shook his head. _Oh, this was going to be bad. _Sam couldn't even stand up straight without listing to the side. He was going to bring that huge mallet down on that tiny disk? Sam took the hammer and hefted it up. Dean walked over to him. "Ah, Sam?"

Sam turned, over-compensated, and ended up with his back to Dean. "Dean? Where are you?"

Dean walked around to stand in front of him. "Sam, you have to focus, okay?"

Sam nodded. His hair covered his eyes. He blew it off his forehead, and it flopped right back down. "Focus, yeah."

Dean turned him until they stood directly in front of the flashing lights of the apparatus. Dean pointed down. "See that metal plate?"

Sam nodded, "I see it."

Dean leaned closer, whispered in Sam's ear so the others couldn't hear. "That's Lucifer's face. See it?"

Sam went still. Serious. Well, as serious as a pretty drunk guy can get, anyway. "Yeah."

Dean still spoke softly. "Crush it, Sammy."

Sam nodded. Took a step back to set up. The group had gone quiet, waiting. Dean stepped back. _Oh, this was going to be bad…_

Sam swung the mallet up, brought it down with all his considerable strength, and completely missed the platform. His swing went way wide, and swung him down with it, until he practically did a front flip, following the hammer on its trajectory around to the ground. The group broke up laughing. Sam lay flat on his back, looked up at Dean. "Did I get it?"

Dean smiled. "Almost." He helped Sam to stand. The guy at the booth reached to take the mallet. Dean held up a hand. "He gets two tries for his dollar, right?"

The guy shrugged. "He does."

Sam set his shoulders, heaved out a breath. Dean leaned in again. "Go for the one in the middle, Sammy."

Sam nodded. "Oh, okay." He lifted the mallet, squinted at the target, and Dean saw when Sam focused, for real, for just that moment he needed. Dean wondered if he were seeing Lucifer there, thinking about all the fallen angel wanted and thought he was going to get from Sam. And Sam came down with the hammer hard, right on the center of the plate. The ground around the booth actually shook. The light went to the top and a loud siren went off. People turned their heads, started clapping, the girls all let out squeals of delight, and the booth guy just slumped his shoulders. Sam stayed serious for just a split second more, then let out a breath and smiled. He took in the cheering crowd, and the laughing girls. He looked over at Dean. "Got him."

Dean nodded. "Yep."

They walked around, competed at the shooting gallery. Dean won handily, and Sam clapped him on the back, turned to the three people watching them. "My brother is a great shot, right?" There was murmured consent as people walked off. Dean actually felt himself blushing. Sam turned back to him. "You were always a dead-eye shooter. Nobody better, really. Nice going." It was stupid how much it meant to Dean. That simple compliment from his looped, admiring little brother. Dean felt his eyes prick with moisture. _We could have had this. If the world weren't so screwed to hell, Sam and me, we could have had this life. Hanging out, having fun, impressing girls and getting buzzed on the weekend at a carnival. _

Dean's good mood started to fade. _Shit. Just enjoy it, check the self-pity at the friggin' door, Dean._

And Sam went still beside him, sucked in an awed breath. "Oh, my God…"

Dean tensed and put his hand on his gun. He whirled to see what had captured Sam's attention. And, then, he saw the puppies.

Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him over to where a small enclosure had been set up on the grass. It was only about ten feet squared, and a foot high. Inside it were eight yellow lab puppies. Sam's eyes had gone so round and liquid, Dean was afraid he was going to start crying. Over puppies. _Time to back him off the moonshine altogether._

Sam stepped into the pen and sat down. All the dogs came over to investigate, and Sam was stroking and nuzzling and trying to pick them all up at once. He finally just fell over onto his side, and the dogs went nuts on him. Jumping on him, or over him, licking his face and hands and neck, squealing and barking. And Sam laid there in the midst of it and laughed, really laughed, with his whole body, like Dean hadn't heard him do since he was a kid. One puppy had climbed into the crevice between his neck and shoulder and was practically giving him a bath, he was licking that diligently. It must have tickled, but Sam let the dog have at it. He let them chew on his fingers and sneakers, he rubbed their ears and bellies. He just lost himself in those puppies. Dean just stood and watched, a perpetual smile on his face.

Sam finally laid out on his back. The puppies began to calm down and settle. Sam had one kneading his stomach, two snoozing his chest and two on the ground, chewing on the sleeves of his hoodie. Sam was trying to pet all of them at once, moving his hands over all he could reach. He eventually turned his gaze up to Dean. He still wore a soft smile. "Come on, Dean."

Dean shook his head. Sam gave him 'the look.' The please-Dean-I-hardly-ask-for-anything-pleeeaassee look. And, like it always had, it spurred Dean to action against his better judgment. He stepped over the little fence and sat down. The puppies were pretty happy with Sam, and only two came over to investigate him. Dean scratched under their chins and behind their ears. They sat there for a while, just rubbing the dogs, and watching the carnival go on around them. Sam finally sat up. He looked at Dean. "Thanks for this, Dean."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. It was fun, huh?"

Sam nodded. "Really fun. But, I think I'm about twenty minutes from horking up all the moonshine you've been givin' me. I don't think that's going to be as fun."

Dean laughed, "Maybe not for you…" He gave one last scratch to the dogs and stood up. He reached down for Sam. "Come on, Sasquatch. Let's get going." Sam hauled in a deep breath, put the puppies back on the grass, and put his hand in Dean's. He winced when Dean pulled him up. Dean remembered the splinters. And the ghost and the picture of Sam flying out a fifth story window. He held his hand a little longer than he would have naturally. Sam looked at him, and smiled again. He pulled Dean forward into a hug, easy as you please. Sam rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "Thanks, Dean. Really."

Dean put his hand on Sam's back, pressed Sam close to him for a long moment. "Welcome." They stepped apart and Dean smiled at him. "Just remember all this gratitude tomorrow, when your head is pounding and your mouth tastes like ass."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'll try."

Dean led him through the thinning crowd. Up ahead, he saw a clown holding a large bouquet of balloons. He was white-faced and big-shoed and _right there._ But, Dean steered Sam away, took him out through the back of the booths. They got in the Impala and Sam laid his head back on the seat, closing his eyes. He looked a little green, but he had a soft smile on his face. "Those puppies were great, huh? Maybe someday, I'll get a dog…"

Dean looked over at his brother, the demon-touched future-vessel of evil. And he was glad he had stopped at this small town Saturday night carnival. It let him see his _brother _again. Not the "destiny boy," but the soft-hearted kid who gave his prize to a two year-old. The guy who was proud his brother was a good shot, and who just wanted to play with puppies for a half hour. He put the car in gear and looked out at the night. Castiel stood in the field in front of him. Dean nodded his thanks. Castiel paused, and then was gone.

Time to find a motel and take some splinters out of his kid brother's hand.

The End


End file.
